SilverPaw

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Cheeseman and I aren't popular. That's a bummer.

What. You guys don't like someone that has never known hardship in their life?

@psych0pomp

Busy rn, could potentially meet up later.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

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Yeah, of course that’d be Audrey’s reaction. Flames of offense licked at him, and annoyance flashed across his expression. “It’s called impro, you dolt,” he complained.

That’s when Ezekiel appeared, and promptly went to bash two of his brothers heads together, and dunked them. In return for what they’d done to their sister. Damon watched the scene, disapproving but not bothering to interfere physically.

“Charming as always, Zeke,” he commented. There was definite sarcasm there – both Audrey and the Bilicas were liable to bring it out of him even on their own. Combined? It was practically guaranteed.

He ignored Weasel’s insult; just huffed, and drawled, “I’m right more times than you think.”

At Odaya repeating to her oldest brother how she ‘was a lady’, he smiled, pleased. As much as the girl was also a little shit – as much as everyone gave her a pass for it – she had at least found some genuine appreciation for his performance.

Audrey did vaguely acknowledge the child’s questionable behavior with her last remark. Damon didn’t think the girl would get it, though. Also, seriously, a ‘better’ role model? He snorted. “Look who’s talking,” he shot at her retreating back meanly, still angry with her.

Sticking by her or ditching her? Pick one, Audrey… he thought, but didn't say.

He looked at the gathered Bilicas. Sure, they were a miserable bullying bunch, but he did kind of have to try and cohabitate with them. His father’s politicking was one reason for it. The village being way too damn small was another.

“I know it’s summer and all, but if you get tired of being all wet, you could get some spares there.” He pointed towards one of the tents in the distance, where one could borrow traditional festival clothing from years past. “Or just, I don’t know, go fucking dry it off before you catch a cold.” Not like he wasn’t saying anything they didn’t know already.

His gaze passed Odaya, who was still wearing his jacket. It was light denim, black – he’d worn it mostly for the looks, so he didn’t miss it much. He didn’t mind it staying with her.

Instead, he gave one last look to Ezekiel. “Violence begets violence,” he quoted. “Ever heard that one?” Then, figuring he’d pushed his luck far enough, he decided to leave. He gave a two-fingered salute, and turned to go with a, “Cheers.”

He faced Isaias, who’d been left standing by his side ever since his oldest brother had told him to do so. “Come on, we’ve prep to do.”

First things first, the two should switch from their casual clothing to what they’d wear to the procession – but no, looking at Isaias, maybe the boy should get cleaned up and patched up first.

“You’re kinda…beat up,” Damon pointed out bluntly, because no matter how he brought it up, he doubted Isaias would like it.

---

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@Fading Memory, @Gisk

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damn, Audrey being ruthless to Damon. Kind of makes me want to put Rowan there in retrospect. But she does try to avoid Bilicas when she can

@Jumbus

Lol, don't worry too much, he can take it.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

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The hike up to the Shrine was mostly enjoyable. Sure, there was Isaias sulking and quietly brooding off to the side, but Damon found him easy enough to ignore. He chatted with the others about nothing in particular as they ascended.

But it looked like some else couldn’t stand how the Bilica boy stared daggers at them all. Robert addressed Isaias’ silent hostility, and the latter was quick to storm off.

“Isaias-!” Damon called out on instinct, but the other either didn’t hear or didn’t want to listen.

Damon frowned after the younger boy, and scuffed a shoe against the dirt path. That had been a bit mean, but Robert also did have a point. If Isaias didn’t want to be there, he didn’t need to be. Still, the kid had looked offended – maybe even hurt – when he’d been chased off like that.

Damon sighed and put it off his mind. He followed Robert’s cue, and went with the others to check out the stunning view.
Just looking down at the golden hued lake was enough to improve his mood; it even felt like the physical fatigue was being drained from him.

“This is amazing…” Damon said quietly, and clearly, everyone agreed.

There was a slight nagging at the back of his mind; a thought in the form of, He should have seen it too. But there were so many other things to do than think about Isaias – the next time he did was on the way down, when it struck him that it really was a good thing after all the boy had left. Because, damn, if he’d hated going up, he would have been a hundred times worse on the way down.

Finally, they’d arrived at the edge of the town. That was when the Fontaines chose to speak to him.

Damon looked up wide-eyed; for once, his natural hazel irises revealed, because he didn’t like to wear contact lenses during physical activities. A slow, appreciative smile spread across his features at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, sir.”

Then, Mrs. Fontaine challenged him. It was kind and casual, but a challenge nonetheless.

Suddenly, his pulse felt heavy, quick; noticeable. Did he say that to butter me up? Doubt started creeping in. Have they been watching all this time just to see if I’m ‘faithful’ enough?

Everyone stood there, surrounding him, waiting on his answer.

Tension mounted.

As Damon met the Fontaines’ gazes, the awareness of being put on the spot flipped a switch in him. He realized that he could appeal to them, while still holding true to his views. His heartbeat calmed, and he straightened up. His expression settled, and so did his nerves.

“I don’t know about demons,” Damon said frankly. Literal, actual demons – as in, supernatural, hellish creatures plaguing the world? It…seemed unlikely. “But I know there’s darkness.”

Darkness like his mother dying.

Darkness like the tragedy of the kid after whom Weeping Sam had been named.

Darkness like all the bad things that happened without rhyme or reason.

Darkness like…

Yeah, there was darkness. “And I think…I think what we do – our actions, and our beliefs, I think it can help. Help make it better.” He put a hand to his chest. “In here.” He gestured to their surroundings, as if to encompass all that there was with one simple motion. “Out there.”

He wanted to believe that. Strived to believe it. That it all could be better. That there was hope.

That what they did mattered.

And the Fontaine couple acknowledged his answer with a nod. They moved on.

The rest of the way back, Damon was lightly ribbed for his impromptu heartfelt speech, and though embarrassment coloured his cheeks and ears, he still felt a sense of accomplishment.

He thought that had gone well.

***

Before his mother had died, they’d all attended these events as a family. Sometimes the trio of father, mother, son stuck together, and other times, the eldest two Howards went alongside as well.

Ever since then, Damon didn’t want to be anywhere near wherever his father or even grandparents were, or whatever it was they were doing. He wanted nothing to do with it.

This was how he was found somewhat aimlessly weaving through the crowds, looking for some company.

By happenstance, he saw the three Bilica brothers tormenting their little sister. As if she had a sensor for this exact scenario, Audrey appeared to save Odaya. And hadn't he, just some hours ago, said to the Fontaines something about helping?

Sighing, he squared his shoulders and made his way to the company.

Quickening his pace, he pretended as if all he could see at that moment was Odaya. He approached her from the front, radiating concern. Damon then dropped to a knee, and dramatically put a hand to his chest. “My Lady!” he exclaimed with a sense of astonishment, which though played up, came across quite seriously. “You are positively drenched,” he tutted. He stripped off his jacket, and passed it over to the little girl.

“What terrible misfortune has befallen you,” he shook his head, and frowning, stood up. “Aha! You must have been accosted by these roadside bandits!” he quite suddenly pointed to the three brothers. He narrowed his eyes at them in warning. His little scene would draw attention – attention they likely wouldn’t want.

Then, his gaze landed on Isaias. “But you, young man…Were we not recently separated? If you wish to rejoin our company, you need only follow.” He raised a pointed eyebrow, hoping Isaias would get it. “There’s a procession to attend to, and our numbers are lacking one. If I am not much mistaken, that one is you,” he added, just to drive the point home.

Then, he finally turned to Audrey (and Rowan). “Ah, please excuse my manners, kind strangers. My most heartfelt thanks for providing aid to her Ladyship,” he executed a simple bow; the kind he thought a noble’s retainer would perform.

As he rose from the bow, however, his expression was once again his own. He had a slightly awkward ‘what can you do’ smile in place. Nonverbally, he pleaded with the teenaged girls that – even if they didn’t go along with his little performance – they’d at least not dismiss it out of hand. Because in his own way, he was trying to smoothly resolve the situation.

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@Fading Memory, @Gisk, and probably @Jumbus

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: No cloak Time: 12:00 pm - 1:00 pm Location: Office -> The Knight Barracks -> Castle Mention(s): Interaction(s):

Wulfric barely heard Auguste’s steps as he departed, nor did he much notice the soft click of the doors as his brother closed them behind him. His mind was stuck on the conversation he had had with Callum. He ran through what had been said, what had been implied…how it might have gone instead.

Unwittingly, his brother’s words had provoked a reaction. Then he’d gone on and said how ‘nothing could change’, essentially, something he by no means believed at all. Of course, that’s not what Callum had wanted to hear. Is alienating him all you can do?

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, and put a hand to his face. It was a rare emotion of dismay – one directed at himself.

The prince carded both hands through his hair, then stood up to pace. It was as if the more he thought, the more confused he became. He stopped mid-step to glare out the windowed balcony door. It was a clear, clear day, but it granted no clarity whatsoever.

Just what did his brother want, really? Before he’d said those unfortunate words, he had offered cooperation. He had practically said to him that Callum could do more to help in the ways he liked, if that’s what he really wanted so much. If only-

If only what, Wulfric? If only he was more like you? He exhaled a short, sharp breath, and dismissed that line of thought.

This is getting nowhere. He was too agitated, his thoughts and feelings all tangled up in one confounding ball of turmoil.

Sighing, he decided he needed to work off this stress, and headed to the knight barracks.

***

The barracks were a large construction of stone, and though designed for function, the building’s architecture was impressive. Besides dormitories, there were a dining room, break room, locker rooms, shower rooms, storage area, and others. Most importantly, there was a sizeable training courtyard, walled off frum public eye.

Entering its premises, those in vicinity stopped to stand at attention at his approach. Wulfric simply motioned for them to go back to what they’d been doing. Nonetheless, Sir Noel Favre came to greet him. The knight, while not particularly tall at 5’7, was heavyset and strong, had his black hair close cropped, and was sporting a stubble beard. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. Everything alright?” The man’s cadence had the slightest accented drawl to it, apparent in the way he dragged out his last word.

Wulfric gave a sharp, curt nod. Perhaps his tension had been seen through despite his public mask of nonchalance. Perhaps it was an assumption based on the unusual time of his arrival. Because while he visited several times a week, it was generally in the mornings and/or evenings.

“Yes,” he retorted, but there was a slight nagging at the back of his mind. “Well…” he changed his response. “Did…something happen outside, by any chance?” Despite being so introspectively absorbed, he had still noticed something off on his way here. Alongside Edin Avenue and further beyond, apprehension had been dotted here and there among the populace.

“Hrm,” the other man coughed awkwardly. “I don’t know.” Noticing his sharpened gaze, the knight continued swiftly. “A few o’ ours just went out to check. But if you’d like news immediately-” Wulfric held up a hand, and shook his head.

“No, that is fine. Handle it first, report later…I trust that if there is something, our security forces have it under control,” he decided. By his expression, Favre took the expectation of competency as a personal compliment. “I am here for a spar,” Wulfric announced, intending to conclude the conversation.

Favre made a sound of pleasantly surprised acknowledgment. “Oh…‘Course. You’re welcome any time, Prince Wulfric.”

Wulfric, who rather thought it’d be a problem if he weren’t, gave a somewhat unimpressed look. Yet without further ado, he went to get dressed into more appropriate attire. After a warm-up, he was ready for a bout. His first opponent was Favre, who seemed just as eager to face off against him as he had been to chat to him.

They both took their stances. Favre was the first to take initiative, going for a downwards cut from above a shoulder. Though he was shorter, his two-handed longsword gave him the reach advantage against Wulfric’s one-handed sabre. Still, it was a predictable attack. He deflected it by raising his blade, so the heavy hit slid off the curved edge of his angled sabre.

Favre, who had excellent stability, was quick to recover, and by the subtle shifts of his body, Wulfric saw him preparing for a follow-up. With a slight adjustment of his position, he preemptively avoided the threat of a retaliatory strike. Conjunctively, he moved in for a slash against the shorter man’s belly. The knight stepped just out of range. Then, he skillfully brought his longsword under and over Wulfric’s. In one maneuver, the other man was protecting against the prince’s attack, and readying a counter.

It was mostly instinct which guided Wulfric just then; quickly and decisively, he was able to score a thrust against his opponent’s arm. This jostled Favre’s attack just enough out of the way. Sensing opportunity, the prince advanced for a more decisive blow. They were now too close to each other for the knight to try a slash. Instead, he pushed up heftily into a guard. Wulfric’s blade was deterred from its path. Because of the knight’s position, he had to disengage to avoid being smacked by his opponent’s pommel.

The two then circled each other, observing. A few close exchanges followed. In the end, Wulfric won that first match when, at one point, he managed to grab the other man’s arms with his offhand. With the other, he delivered a would-be fatal hit, and thus concluded the match.

“Good one, sir,” the knight complimented. Wulfric inclined his head. By mutual agreement, they went for best out of three.

In the second round, Wulfric worked in more quick slashes, his footwork quite impressive. Yet, Favre was good at playing on the defensive. They traded several glancing hits, with the prince in the lead. However, the knight turned things around when he attempted a high-risk high-reward maneuver, and was successfully countered.

“Nice work,” Wulfric said this time.

The third round was their longest, as they were both at their most focused. Though still aggressively oriented, he wasn’t so forceful as to present an easily exploitable opening. After one of the many times they crossed swords, Wulfric was quicker to press his advantage, and won.

“Excellent form, Your Highness,” Favre offered after a short breather.

“Good matches,” the prince acknowledged. “Let’s switch it up,” he remarked. Wulfric found himself some other sparring partners. Though mock combat was his favourite way to practice, he did go through some drills as well, and also did exercises to improve general physical conditioning.

It was no time at all before a bell from the nearby church resounded, announcing that it was one. Already? Wulfric removed his helmet, and shook off his sweat dampened hair. It was a shame, but…It would have to be enough, as short as he felt the training had been. Though, due to its intensity, he did feel pleasantly exercised. He took the next few minutes to cool down and stretch.

Seeing as he was readying to depart, most people left him to it.

Most.

“Prince Wulfric!” Antea ‘Andy’ Lanza greeted cheerfully as she arrived to the practice area. She was an unfortunate rarity in Caesonia; a woman knight. She was tall for a woman at 5’8 and was athletically slim, her tanned, wired frame possessing the kind of hidden strength which surprised many. Her sandy hair was tied back in a very short ponytail, and had an undercut. Her face was thin and sharp, nicked with small scars here and there.

Turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow, he saw that she’d come with someone else. Her arm was slung over the shoulders of a discomfited youth, whose shock of dark brown hair had been ruffled into disorder. “Leavin’, sir? Yer Highness’ll miss sum newbie bustin’ then.” Though technically a noble, her speech was entirely common. The newcomer in question scowled at her words, and struggled to free himself from her grip.

Antea let him go. As the adolescent straightened up, Wulfric saw he already matched him in height, even though the young man was at an age where he was likely to grow some more. “Your Highness,” he took care with how he spoke. An embarrassed flush had spread across his cheeks, further warming his bronze complexion. Despite oozing mortification and surliness, he managed a respectful greeting. Gaze averted, he bowed, and the motion was proper if stiff. “Izan Verdugo, sir.” The prince gave a clearly dismissive wave, and the newcomer gladly took the chance to slink away.

“Don’t scare him too much,” Wulfric drawled dryly at Lanza, having noticed a glint of vicious mischief in her gaze.

Sensing his good mood, the woman grinned slyly, and jokingly returned, “Only what ‘e needs, sir.” Wulfric huffed sharply. But as he turned to leave, a secretive smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

***

After his practice, and before returning to the castle, he had a shower to take.

He stood under the spray of the cold water longer than usual. It was physically reinvigorating, and somewhat meditative. Even as his fatigue receded, so too did the enjoyment. Part of it was that he was concluding a fun activity, and thoughts of the work and obligations he had to attend to returned to his active awareness.

A part of it – perhaps the larger one – was that he recalled his reason for having come here.

He still didn’t know what the fuck to do about Callum.

Wulfric took a long, long breath, and exhaled slowly.

At least he’d regained enough of an equilibrium to function normally.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

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“And that’s a wrap!” Carlos called out as he clapped. He was a sizeable middle-aged man at 6’ feet. He had a beer belly going on, but there was definitely some muscle there too, especially in his arms. He had a warm Mediterranean complexion, and his thick dark brown hair had quite some grays in it already. There were laugh lines on his face which betrayed his friendly disposition.

Carlos Linares often helped organize events like this. For the Summer Festival, he’d been overseeing a group of volunteers as they prepared to help out re-enact the sealing of the Chartreusean demons. Some villagers even believed it to be an actual resealing.

And sure, Freyja would have the starring role in that. Each year, the Fontaines picked who the most appropriate person was, based on the alignment of the stars, and spiritual energies, and who knows what else. Though, credit where credit was due, when Damon had watched her practice, he’d thought she’d do very well.

Today, Freyja was away helping build the ceremonial raft – also very symbolically important. But these past few weeks, she’d often been right here in the town’s enclosed sport’s hall, going through the ceremonial dance, and prepping for the real thing.

The point was, even though she’d do the main part, there was still a very involved side-procession; first on the water in two-person boats to accompany the big raft, then on foot along the lake’s shore and further inland. Damon might just be one among the several supports, and it was a small-scale production all in all, but he was pleased to be involved nonetheless. Proud too, though he didn’t like admitting that one.

As Carlos called an end to the day’s rehearsal, the participants dispersed into smaller groups to chatter and clean up. Damon, who was the only one around his age there today, was mostly left alone. Honestly though, he was pretty damn tired, and didn’t mind missing out on some socialization just then. His breathing was laboured, and he’d sweated a lot. His clothes clung to him, uncomfortably sticky.

“Pheeew,” the boy breathed out, and went to sit at one of the spectator benches. Off to the side, some refreshments had been set up, including bottles of water; blessed, precious water.

He grabbed one, closed his eyes, and gulped down almost the whole half litre in one sitting. He’d drunk it so fast, he was forced to cough a bit at the end there.

“Hola! You ok there?” Carlos came by, looking down on him kindly.

Damon nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his palm, and looked up at the older man with a tired smile. “So? We all pass?” He asked jokingly.

“Si, si,” the Spaniard nodded, good-natured. “And you! You did good. Muy bueno! Glad you’re on the team,” the man grinned, and reached out to ruffle his hair.

The adolescent scrunching up his nose in faux discomfort, even though he secretly enjoyed and appreciated the gesture. Carlos chuckled and let him go.

More people gathered at the refreshments, and Damon too picked a home-made oatmeal bar and some fruit to nibble at.

After they were finished with the clean-up here, they’d all go up to the Shrine, to help sort out the various other props and start transporting them over to the lake.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Gotta hurry with my post, then.

And done.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric, Callum & Auguste

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Once Callum entered Wulfric’s office, the latter looked up from scribbling something into a notebook. He appeared to have been about to say something – likely an invitation to come in, which the younger prince hadn’t bothered waiting for. An unimpressed look, and a pointedly arched eyebrow was the only response to his uninvited entry, however.

When asked whether he’d wanted to see his brother, Wulfric replied, “Yes, I did.” It was a simple, no-nonsense admission, one which entirely disregarded that Callum’s question had been sarcastic. But almost immediately afterwards, an expression of extreme annoyance flashed across his face. “The door?” he questioned indignantly, for it had been left open on purpose.

He stared at it for a moment, as if waiting for someone to close it. But because he rarely had someone on standby in or around his office, no one did. Frowning heavily, Wulfric produced a very audible, “Tsk.”

Before taking care of that, he first tidied his desk; capped his fountain pen, put it in an engraved wooden holder, used an ink blotter to dry off his recent writing, and stored his notebook into a drawer. As he did so, his expression smoothed out; perhaps, the small exercise was a meditative one for him. Just as possibly, he had decided he would not let himself be irritated that easily.

“What about the door?” Callum asked with mock confusion. He didn’t bother to move or go back and close the door. He only waited and stared up at the ceiling as his brother took his time organizing his desk. Fair enough; Cal had taken his time coming up here, he’d made Wulfric wait around for him first.

Wulfric stood up from his desk, languidly stretched, and ambled towards the doorway. Contrary to Callum’s assertion, he acted as if he could, in fact, spend the whole day there. “To not give the time of day to my darling little brother?” he acted mock surprised, and affected the obnoxious kind of sweetness for the term of endearment. “Perish the thought,” he then added dryly, and sent a smirk Callum’s way.

In the meanwhile, the youth had clearly more than made himself at home. That piercing blue-gray gaze scanned over the figure, and seemed to see all. Or, at least, that’s what his haughtily knowing countenance relayed at the moment. Then, Wulfric tilted his head, as if to consider the scene from a new angle. “All you need now is to start eating grapes to complete that image of hedonism,” he remarked idly. It was unclear if he was joking, trying to make a point, or something else. But there were actually refreshments on the coffee table set out.

Wulfric, who had decided to pass by his brother, trailed one hand along the length of the backrest Callum was lying against. Looking down upon him, he was very briefly tempted to roll him off the couch. Instead, however, he simply took ahold of his calves, and dropped his booted feet onto the floor. Then, he strolled the rest of the way to the still opened doors to close them.

Despite Callum’s attempts to provoke a reaction, Wulfric kept his detached demeanor and Cal took this as a good sign. If Wulfric was angry he’d expected his brother would’ve shown it by now, especially with the added provocation. So this probably wasn’t about the onion and Cal was almost certain there was nothing else he’d done between their last conversation and right now that could’ve caught Wulfric’s attention. Callum gnawed at his already chewed-up fingernails as he tried to figure out why he was there. But by the time Wulfric dropped Callum's feet from the couch to the floor he’d already given up on trying to figure it out. Trying to figure out what Wulfric wanted would only give him a worse headache than the one that crept back whenever he tried to think about last night.

“So glad to hear you’ve finally come ‘round and accepted what an absolute delight I am.” Callum matched his brother’s sarcastic tone before giving in to Wulfric’s suggestion and grabbing a bunch of grapes. He leaned back against the couch, letting his head drop back and dangling the grapes above him as he open-mouth chewed bites off the bunch.

Auguste's head popped into the door frame before Wulfric could close it. “...My, what’s this? An impromptu meeting between brothers without inviting me?” A half-smile crept onto his face, amused by his own musings. He stayed by the door-frame, waiting to be invited in.

“Lured in by the mystery of an unusually opened room?” Wulfric commented dryly, then motioned his brother in. “You might as well join us.” Once Auguste entered, he did finally close the door.

“Of course, an empty room becomes infinitely more interesting when my brothers step into one.” Auguste replied with a smile as he let himself in. He found his favoured seat in Wulfric’s office, in front of a small, circular table where he and his brother had often shared a drink.

As Auguste peeked his head in through the open door, Callum had quickly tried to correct his posture and cease his antagonistic actions but only ended up nearly choking on a grape. He managed to cough it back into his hand and then finished chewing it, now with his mouth closed, before speaking. “Welcome to the meeting of exceptional minds, Aug.”

Wulfric followed Auguste back in, eyeing Callum’s reaction with thoughtful interest. He stopped by the coffee table, and prepared two cups of coffee, one to his own liking, and one to Auguste’s. He left the former on the table, and brought the latter over to his middle brother. Then, he returned to his table to pick up his own. Cup in hand, he settled into one of the remaining two couches. As he sat all the way back, comfortably leaning against the backrest, he let one arm settle onto the armrest. He crossed one leg over the other, and used his knee as a perch for the saucer, cup, and teaspoon.

Though he was in a position where he could easily look at either brother, he angled his head towards Callum. “So.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “What was your line of thinking with that whole onion bit?” His whole demeanour was quite casual, and his tone genuinely curious, though he by no means found the action in question agreeable.

Damn. Callum thought. This was about the onion. But the conversation didn’t feel like he was in trouble, not like the one this morning. Callum shrugged, immediately deciding that Wulfric wouldn’t understand. Edin liked Wulfric, and his brother didn’t know what it was like to bear the brunt of the king’s malice. But Edin’s ire was inescapable for Cal, it had become part of his identity, and he wasn’t going to let that ire fall down on anyone else, it was his. His action hadn’t been fueled by thoughts, it had been instinct.

“For attention, obviously. And it successfully caught the eye of Ar-, Lady Edwards did it not?” Callum knew his eldest brother too easily saw through outright lies, so he spun what little truth he offered into something more agreeable. “How were your dates? You both seem popular with our Alidasht guests.” Callum did his best to lead the conversation away from the onion. He tossed what remained of the bunch of grapes back onto the table.

Wulfric gave a noncommittal hum. “And here I thought it was some particularly impulsive, inefficient, and bizzare act of trying to ‘help’ that commoner,” he pondered, side-eying Callum’s reaction. “Though help with what or how – nevermind why – rather escapes my understanding,” he snarked. He closed his eyes for a long sip of coffee. “Well, I had supposed it was either that, or your usual inability not to oppose or provoke father in the most senseless of ways…” He seemed strangely placid, almost as if he were willing to let this topic rest – however, he by no means grabbed onto the next conversational hook.

“Yeah, I’m sure anything that doesn’t revolve around this family escapes your understanding, brother.” Callum muttered back as he shook his head and gritted his teeth at the rest of what Wulfric said. His anxious fidgeting stopped. The sarcasm and theatrical antics ceased as coldness and spite replaced them. He looked at Wulfric much in the same way he glared at his father as his eldest brother plucked at a raw nerve.

“Did you really ask me here to point out how stupid my every action is or to chastise me for eating a vegetable? Neither of which affected you or our family’s relationship with our guests. Right? I didn’t interfere with anything. I cooperated with that idiotic event. What more do you want? Got a list of things I’m allowed to put in my mouth now? I don’t need a third, unwanted, parent, Wulfy.” He spat his words out, not raising his voice, but allowing his contempt to coat them as he spoke.

“It is because I know how clever you are that-” he started with offended incredulity, setting his cup and saucer down with more force than strictly necessary. But before he could say any more, Callum continued.

“Well, want it or not, I swear by the gods: I will do all I can to stick around,” Wulfric growled out, anger sparking his gaze. “So, unless you are inclined to actually do something about that you will have to settle for being one in the long line of many who hope I will spontaneously drop dead!”

Naturally, Auguste had quickly grasped Callum’s intent with his…rather unorthodox, albeit well-intentioned, and conspicuous display. His brother had wanted to draw their father’s attention from the girl to himself. It was why he, too, assisted in defusing the situation.

Auguste was no stranger to his brothers’ frequent spats. Although it made him uncomfortable, he had grown more than accustomed to their arguments. It seemed the two just grated each other to their wits’ end. It did not help that the two tended to speak in coded language and bitter sarcasm. Not difficult to translate but the sub-text plucked at his own heart.

“Calmer tones, brothers.” Auguste interjected lightly, although he would still take a relative backseat to their conversation as this needed to be hashed out between the two. “And please, actually speak towards each other, not with veiled jabs nor rhetorical retorts. For me…please?”

“Now who’s the parental one,” Wulfric scoffed, but even though he was clearly still angry, he settled down some.

“Oh, the irony of a peacemaker who is most himself when wielding a sword.” Cal’s glare shot toward Auguste and regret followed soon afterward. It wasn’t something he’d meant to say out loud. But that was Callum; lashing out at whoever was around at the slightest provocation. He leaned his head over the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Sorry, Auguste, it’s just been a long day. I didn’t mean it.” He added, softening his tone.

Auguste simply waved off Wulfric’s, and then Callum’s, words with a weary smile. Their words did ring some truth to them; it wasn’t the first time he had been called ‘parent-like’... And in times of stress he does reach for his hip - often grasping at empty air as he did not always carry his blade. “It’s alright, Callum, no need to apologize.” The prince took a small swig of coffee and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“And I don’t wish for you to drop dead.” He mumbled out a response to Wulfric, not an apology, but it was close to saying something nice. “There’s a couple people I’m saving those wishes for already.” He added, half joking, but smiling some as he continued to look up at the ceiling.

“Well, good,” Wulfric huffed, still somewhat disgruntled as he frowned at Callum. After a long, long moment of deliberation, he said, “I would rather you remain alive, as well.” While he spoke clearly, if quietly, and though looking directly at Callum, this was said with some reservation. It was quite the awkward profession to make, after all.

Sighing audibly, Wulfric picked up his previously abandoned cup of coffee, and drank the rest. While a part of him considered asking who his brother wanted dead, and if he by any chance wanted active help realizing those wishes, he eventually decided against it. Instead, he addressed what he felt was the overarching issue.

“To answer your question…What I really want to know.” Wulfric took a moment to think about how to phrase this, or rather, phrase it with the least possible amount of sarcasm and frustration, as had been requested. “Do you not see or care at all how each and every action,” he paused briefly. “Each action which makes you seem like a fool or madman…Reduces the influence with which you could do something better?”

“Maybe I am just a fool and a madman. Everyone else sees the same things I do, and most of them can just look away. But I can’t. And that makes me feel crazy.” He tore his gaze away from the ceiling and looked at Wulfric. “They would have killed Darryn today, for no other reason than to spill blood. That is what our parents are, they will not change. Whatever distance I can get from that, the better.” Callum wasn’t sure if he’d shared too much but he doubted Wulfric would relent until he got something resembling an answer.

“So I can cooperate with your summer plans, smile and play nice, and keep from dragging the Alidasht into anything unsavory, but I can’t pretend that I am okay with what goes on here.” Cal added with a shrug. That was the most he could offer, too much compromise and he risked losing himself.

Wulfric gazed at Callum intently, turned fully towards him, and took his time pondering all he’d said. “I see…” he said slowly, and he was clearly at least trying to. “Believe it or not, I am not trying to change your values, so that is fine.” Yet he was still frowning mildly, and had more to say to that. “But my point was that the more you do things like you did in relation to that strange commoner girl – things which reduce your political respectability, and the favour you could have, that is – the less you can do to aid in more critical situations, like Fletcher’s was.”

He silently sighed “I think you at least partially understand my meaning, because you knew that you had to use my influence to get what you wanted,” he added neutrally. “What I would like you to consider is how you might be able to do more of the same. No need to cooperate with our parents directly, if you detest them so much…” Wulfric shook his head at that, because he thought it fairly nonsensical to limit your own options for the sake of pure principle. “But you could work more with me, or with him,” at this, he gestured to Auguste, “or hell, with whoever else that you can at this point, really.”

“That strange commoner girl was not only very kind but she also offered me a very thoughtful gift. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with this place, no one wants to see anything beyond titles. You will be king one day, and you already speak of your people like you don’t even like them. Planning to rule as Edin does? Treating your people like a nuisance who exist only for tax revenue?” Callum’s anger flared back up even as he tried to stay civil. Wulfric’s point wasn’t entirely wrong, it just wouldn’t work for him for reasons that could not be voiced around anyone who shared his surname. He took a moment, and a deep breath, to recompose himself.

“I will not-” Wulfric began indignantly, but cut himself off to stop another outburst. But he did think to himself rather sourly, Why would I have to like them to rule differently?

Callum shook his head at Wulfric’s reply, he wasn’t surprised but it was something he hadn’t hoped to hear. “Every deal with a devil comes with a price. How much of my soul can I bargain away before there's nothing left? But, yes, I’d rather owe a debt to you than let a man die for mine, and Ana’s, mistake. I chose the lesser of two evils then because there was little time for anything else. Can either of you honestly look me in the eyes and say that working with them, standing by every horrible thing our parents have done, hasn’t torn something from you?" He looked from Wulfric to Auguste, not sure what he’d hear from either brother.

A look of uncertainty crossed Auguste’s face that was soon replaced with his usual confidence. “...How did that saying go; ‘Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, it matters little.’ Choosing between ‘two evils’ is always a difficult choice, Cal… er- not to say that I think that working with dear Wulfric is evil, far from it.” Auguste replied, “While we are privileged, our ‘job’ is difficult… Soon, we will be the ones faced with choosing between impossible choices. If it’s any consolation, I believe you chose correctly.” He nodded, tacitly agreeing that idly standing by their family’s misdeeds had indeed taken a toll on him. Although Wulfric also did have a point, to make radical changes you need to rise to a higher position. Changes without power is akin to screaming at a brick wall.

Callum smiled and nodded at Auguste, there was a lot of hope in knowing that Auguste wasn’t rotten. It didn’t have to keep spreading down the family tree. But Auguste was loyal, he wouldn’t turn on their family. Callum couldn’t blame someone for that.

The last of Callum’s words had Wulfric’s fists clenching, and he stared into the off-distance stonily. “How I wish I could honestly say that nothing has ever been torn away from me,” he said lowly, expression twisting momentarily with all kinds of deeply unpleasant emotions. However, it was gone too soon to pinpoint his exact feelings. Though it wasn’t quite for the reasons Callum had mentioned, he did have his own for the utter loathing that he’d just had to learn to live with.

“But so what?” he scoffed, tossing his head to the side in irritation. “It changes nothing,” he hissed, facing Callum. “Not that the best way for me to become a ruler is via legitimate succession…and certainly not my beliefs,” he sneered.

Then, a familiar, comforting coldness overtook him, one that was at once sharp yet dampening. A strange smile graced his features as he chuckled darkly. “It seems that leaves us at an impasse…For now.”

Callum glimpsed a familiar darkness in Wulfric, the same that lurked behind his mother’s eyes. Everything was clearer; there could be no more deals or alliances with Wulfric. Callum only stared off at nothing until his eyes became unfocused as his brother spoke. Wulfric would only ever care about power, only the ends, never the means. His eldest brother was lost. He’d thought it before, but even still he felt unready to really know it. He hated that Wulfric had said it so clearly. He hated what his brother had become, but he could bring himself to hate his brother. He wished he hadn’t woken up this morning. “Yeah, an impasse. I’ve got nothing more to say.” He stood up to leave but it seemed Wulfric had more to add.

“Well, then, Callum. There is something else - nothing long, arduous, or philosophical, not to worry,” he barked a non-amused laugh. “As part of your cooperative efforts,” he flashed a razor-sharp smile. “For one...Whenever you leave the castle henceforth, you will take at least two guards with you - your pick as to who.” Wulfric waited a beat to gauge Callum’s reaction. “For another, I would like you to give it your best in learning how to moderate your alcohol intake.”

Cal rolled his eyes at his brother’s attempt to exert control over him. The guards would be a nuisance. But then Wulfric brought up lessening his drinking, and he only snorted. “My best efforts are infamously disappointing. But sure, have your armed nannies follow me about.” But still his brother wasn’t finished, Wulfric had one last devastating utterance left.

“Ah, and not to forget…By absolutely no means are you to establish contact with Marek Delronzo.” By the glint in his eyes, this had been a card Wulfric had kept up his sleeve until the opportune moment.

How could he know that name? There was really only one way. No one else at that party knew Marek. Just him and Ana. And Cal knew he hadn’t caved. Gods-damnit, Ana. So he couldn’t trust Ana either. “As agreed.” He muttered. Marek, at least, had the ways and means to protect himself.

“Have a good day, Auguste,” was all Cal added before he left. Once again, Callum left the door wide open.

“You too, Callum.” Auguste managed to get in before he left.

When Callum made to get up, Wulfric shifted as if he were about to try and do the same, feeling oddly inclined to go after him, and do...something. But in the end, he only resettled back into in his seat. “What a terrible mistake this was…”

But what was the mistake? Being too honest with his brother, or not being honest enough? That he was ready to make necessary sacrifices? That he may have been wrong about the necessity of some of them? Because in retrospect…lining up Fletcher…might have indeed been pointless.

And now, Callum had left before Wulfric could have a proper conversation about Marek. He turned to look at Auguste, but his gaze was so distant, it was questionable whether he was seeing his sibling at all. “You ought to know…” he began, words slower than usual due to his preoccupation. “Marek Delronzo…that is the name of the party’s host…allegedly.”

Callum’s reaction had tacitly confirmed that this was true, but it still wasn’t as much of a certainty as Wulfric would prefer. He should have known that prodding Callum wouldn’t amount to much. (Should he have even been trying to gain information from his brother in such a way?)

Sighing, he continued his one-sided conversation with Auguste. “That name was relayed to me by a certain Count Hendrix,” he noted. “Quite suspicious…But then again, what is another man playing at politics, looking to use what there is to use?” he mused wryly.

His thoughts returned to Callum. “I meant to…” he trailed off. What he had wanted was to reach some sort of an understanding with him. Yet his words and actions had been anything but conducive to that. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that the only thing he managed to achieve was to hurt Callum. “Him and I…” he shook his head sadly, regretfully.

A long inhale and exhale followed. Feeling suddenly weary, Wulfric leaned his head against the backrest, and closed his eyes. “Leave me be now, brother.”

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

That would make sense. Ambrose's mother probably hosted a small fundraiser or awareness banquet and managed to rope in the founding families that wished to come. There was an unspoken rivalry there. Ambrose and Damon would have definitely run into each other, but the rivalry doesn't transfer over to their children. Just like "oh hey, a kid my age and generally close to my status... neat."

Maybe they have that sort of friendship that has verbal jabs. To give up the appearance that the families don't really care for each other, but it's all in good fun.

@psych0pomp

Yup, sounds good.

Prefacing this, Toby is the kind of character who when approached first by anyone for any reason, will probably be pretty clingy and attached. Very, very low standards in terms of relationships and friendships for her. So any one of the other characters could conceivably become a very close friend to her quite easily.

@SilverPaw: Toby would definitely find Damon interesting and be generally friendly towards him, though I don’t think they would be friends right off the bat, unless he made the first move. She’d relate strongly to his desire to be liked and appreciated.

@myrkwise

Well, he'd definitely reciprocate friendliness. Maybe he'd be kinda like 'oh, you're my fan?' and try to show off (possibly just to annoy her cousin Audrey at first, haha), and maybe something more could develop from that eventually (which we can leave for the IC).

Aaand now for those I've not yet got to previously.

@Teyao They could have done a thing here or there together. Possibly a 'yup, can be fun to do things with him' relationship.

@King Cosmos Would relate to her ambition for sure. Also, obligatory social media buds. Might invite himself alongside on her and Will's adventures when the mood strikes.

@Cassette At the very least, he would have got acquainted with Elias to spite his father (who's recently fairly averse to outsiders in general). Pretty sure he'd be (secretly) jealous of Elias' relationship with his father, though, so he'd likely keep a bit of the metaphorical distance.

@webboysurf I think they could relate re wanting to see, visit, be other places than this town, and also because each of them has a dream/passion they wanna pursue (even when they’re so different). And if they got along well enough, Damon would be willing to act as the occasional ‘social awareness’ check for him.

If anyone's got alternate/additional suggestions or w/e, feel free to mention 'em. Also, hope I didn't somehow miss anyone.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment - On Hiatus

Damon Howard

Name: Damon Howard

Age: 16

Gender | Sex | Identity: Male

Personality Description:
At the core of it, what Damon most wants is to be liked, so he does what he can to make himself likeable. He desires admiration, and popularity…but perhaps the most of it all, acknowledgement. He is friendly, approachable, charming, polite, and respectable. He is a tad vain, but willing to play it off for laughs. He can be sarcastic, passive-aggressive, and too fixated on some things (e.g. his appearance, the notion of success), but at least he does have a backbone…Socially speaking, that is. In a physical altercation, Damon is almost next to useless. That is why he’d rather defuse tensions with words if at all possible.

It is known that Damon has aspirations to go to the city, and to ‘make it big’. He’s been enthralled with the metropolitan lifestyle since he was a child, and hasn’t given up on his dream since he’s first thought of it. This despite all the opposition, tensions, and stress he’s faced due to it. Despite his best efforts, this has caused him many issues in a town so insular as New Hope. Though he’s been determined not to look down on them all the way some of them do to him, it'd be a lie to say Damon has no resentment. He does, and has many frustrations and insecurities to boot. He just hides it all.

Physical Description:
Of average height for his age and gender at 173 cm (5’8), he is hoping for more of a growth spurt. He has a very lithe, delicate frame, and a pale complexion which bruises and burns very easily. He is decently agile and dexterous, and is a good dancer. Despite having put quite some effort into improving it, his endurance is still middling at best. As far as any other athletic activities go, he is ‘ok’ at best. In group sports especially, he is rather the wild card; sometimes, he will pull off something remarkable, and others, he’ll fail disastrously. Whichever happens, most people assume he was just trying to show off…which is not too far off the mark.

Even from a distance, and at first glance, it is apparent Damon is trying to stand out. He dyes his hair, which is always neatly styled, trims his eyebrows, wears coloured contacts, has several earrings, paints his nails when the mood strikes, and even uses makeup for most of his online content. He orders most of his clothing online, preferring a city chick style. He moves with grace and purpose, many of his movements carefully studied and deliberate even when they seem entirely casual.

Yo'Bikur form:

His hair was now longer, falling past his shoulders, and pitch black. Elongated, pointed ears peeked through. His canines were sharper, too. A pair of blood red horns curled from atop his forehead. His pupils were slit – like a cat’s, or some snakes’ – and his irises were so strange. There were all sorts of colours there. Each time he tilted his head or tried to take a closer look, they shifted. It took a few flashes of silver – the only consistent thing – for him to realize that they reflected the environmental hues. He went to brush through his thicker mane, but was stopped by two things.

One. His fingernails were now matte black and clawed. (Same with his toes.)

Two. There were these strange broken up lines on his (still pale) skin; spidery, thin, light gray – barely visible, but definitely there.

Like cracks seeping through.

...Thankfully, none were on his face.

Backstory:
The single child of Ashton Howard, of the Howards. The Howards were one of the early pioneers to New Hope, and have stuck around ever since. They’re responsible for the banking business, and other financial matters, and have often worked with or on the council. On the other hand, Damon’s mother, Mirabel (née Blanchard) moved to this small, calming village when she was 23. She’d come due to her poor constitution, and the environment seemed to suit her well. She married Ashton when she was 25 (and he was 31), and they had Damon but a year later.

While his mother was still alive, things were good. Damon went to school, had friends, and a decent family. Sure, there were conflicts between his two sets of grandparents, but since his maternal ones lived away, it was never that much of an issue. Mirabel, who worked as a private music teacher, taught her son the piano, and to sing. She encouraged all his interests (dancing, acting…), even if they were considered ‘unusual’ by many others. She took him out to her home city the few times that she could, and was the one to expand his horizons, as it were.

But then, when he was 13, she died of a terminal illness at 39 years of age. That’s when everything changed. Damon’s father most especially. Ashton’s parents renewed their criticisms for his having married some out-of-towner, and have been trying to push him towards a remarriage. Though he resisted that, for some (to Damon inexplicable) reason, he veered hard towards traditionalism; whereas he’d been previously more or less neutral, he now associated closely with the likes of Ezekiel the Elder.

In turn, Ashton has been pressuring Damon, wanting him to stay in New Hope, and to take over the so-called family business. He’s been far less supportive of him; in fact, it’s almost as if the more time passes, the more he opposes all that his son wants, and does, and is. Damon feels that he has to fight for each and every inch of freedom – and that far too often, he is the one forced to make concessions.

Notable Connection:
Ashton Howard, Damon’s father, banker (48). While Mirabel was still alive, Ashton was often too busy with his work to be there for him as much – but Damon remembers that he was affectionate both to him and his mother while at home, if subtly so. He was the silent support Damon hadn’t quite realized had been there until he lost it. With his mother gone, his father has begun to more actively involve himself in his life – but in the form of trying to control it. Needless to say, it’s a tense, strained relationship between father and son.

Open to other connections too!

Respond to these prompts in character:

You're in class and the Fire Alarm goes off. Everyone begins to panic.

“Panic? Me? Why would I panic? I know what to do. Just keep calm; act it, look it, and you’ll feel it, too…And! And! ‘Cause I so obviously know what I’m doing, it’d keep others calm, too, and we could all get out like we’re supposed to.”

You've made plans to go to the festival and are running late, but may make it in time to see the fireworks with your friends. On your way, you see a stranger with a flat tire on the side of the road.

“Yeah, sorry, but I don’t wanna let down my friends or miss the fireworks...Oh, but, hm. Maybe if I gave them a hand, they’d give me a ride over? Win-win, right?”

You fall asleep in class and begin to dream; you're atop a ruined tower and a massive dragon circles overhead. You reach for...

“…Gold to give to the dragon, so it doesn’t eat me in exchange?”

The world is so boring; you wish you had a super power. What do you wish for?

“Hmm…A way to get people to do what I liked? But maybe then it really would be too boring. Oh, what about staying young, good-looking, and healthy?” Then, he visibly became more somber than usual. “…If I had had a way to help my mother…That. That’s what I’d pick.”

You are suddenly reminded that tomorrow is the Midterm Exam.

Damon picked up his phone, and the following could be heard, his tone polite though his expression was clearly annoyed:

“Yes?”

“I know…thank you.”

“Of course, I studied.”

“Yes, father, I am ready.”

Blankly, he removed the phone from his ear and stared at the ‘call ended’ notification on it. “Goodbye to you, too,” he snarked.